nrose administer the sacrament to one
whose membership was not assured, for he ministered to those of a
close sect, and a close sect of the straitest order. As the mother
pleaded for her child, he saw rising before him a difficulty of
which he had often dreamed, but never before faced--a difficulty
of ministering to a Church fenced in by deeds, the letter of which
he could not in his inner conscience accept.

The mother was importunate, however, and eventually the pastor
promised to bring the matter before his deacons.

What the decision of these deacons was will be told in another
Idyll of Rehoboth.

III.

THE COURT OF SOULS.

'I'm noan for bringin' th' lass back into th' Church. Hoo's noan
o'er modest, or hoo would never ax us to tak' her back.'

'Same here, Amos! What does hoo want amang dacent Christian fo'k?'
And so saying, Elias Bradshaw opened a large pocket-knife and
closed it again with a sharp click, and then toyed with it in his
hand.

'It wur bad enugh for th' owd woman to tak' her back wom', but if
we tak' her back into th' Church we's be a thaasand times wur,'
continued Amos.

'But surely,' pleaded Mr. Penrose, 'if the angels welcome a
returning sinner, might we not venture to do the same?'

'We're noan angels yet, Mr. Penrose,' replied Amos. 'It'll be time
enugh to do as th' angels do when we live as th' angels live; an'
I raither think as yo'd clam if yo' were put o' angels' meat. Ony
road, ye con try it if yo' like; it'll save us summat i' th'
offertory if yo' do.'

'Come, Amos, thaa's goin' a bit too fur,' interrupted Abraham
Lord. 'If yo're baan to insult th' parson, yo've no need to insult
them as is up aboon--"ministerin' sperits," as th' apostle cos
em.'

'We know thaa'rt no angel, Amos, baat thi tellin' us,' said
Malachi o' th' Mount. 'And it ever they shap thee into one thaa'll
tak' some tentin!' (minding).

'I durnd know as I want to be one afore mi time, Malachi: an' I'm
noan baan to do as they do till I ged amang 'em. I'd as soon pool
a warp ony day as play a harp; but when th' Almeety skifts me fro'
th' Brig Factory to heaven, mebbe I'll shap as weel at a bit o'
music as ony on yo'.'

'Wilto play thi music o'er sich as Amanda, thinksto?' asked old
Malachi.

'Thee mind thi business, Malachi. When th' Almeety maks me an
angel, I'll do as th' angels do. But noan afore, noather for yo',
nor Amanda Stott, nor Mr. Penrose, nor onybody else, so naa thaa
knows.'

'Spokk